


Won't you run to me tonight

by apreciouspixie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (a bit), Alternate Universe - Army, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Army, Blowjobs, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Riding, Smut, Top!Harry, bottom!Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 20:28:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apreciouspixie/pseuds/apreciouspixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twelve months is a long time to spend away from your lover.</p><p>or Harry returns from Afghanistan and Louis smiles for the first time in a year, probably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Won't you run to me tonight

**Author's Note:**

> woow, super old fic, i've read it through more than once by now, actually, wow. tnx to [Pinja](http://dumhaz.tumblr.com) for being my baby girl <33  
> title/quote from Middle Distance Runner by Sea Wolf  
> \--  
> [Russian translation!](http://ficbook.net/readfic/1754202)  
> [German translation!](http://w.tt/1z6Vlkw)

_But you’ll have to run to me tonight,  
tonight I will love you forever_ _._

* * *

 

The first month Harry is gone Louis barely sleeps.  
The second month Harry is gone Louis stops going out with his mates.  
The third month Harry is gone Louis only goes out for work.  
The fourth month Harry is gone Louis misses work as much as possible without getting sacked.  
The sixth month Harry is gone Louis experiments with anti-depressants, but they don’t do anything because he isn’t depressed, he’s just lonely.  
The seventh month Harry is gone Louis can only fall asleep under sleeping pills or drunk.  
The eight month Harry is gone Louis’ mother forcefully brings him back to Doncaster, where he rarely leaves the house.  
The ninth month Harry is gone Louis almost misses the alcohol, because he cannot drink with his little sisters next door.  
The tenth month Harry is gone Louis stops counting days, he’s been counting since the day Harry left, and starts counting hours.  
The eleventh month Harry is gone Louis starts praying every night to a god he doesn’t believe in, but Harry does.  
The twelfth month Harry is gone Louis cannot stay in one place for more than a minute, because he’s counting minutes.

Louis wakes up that morning at 4.30 AM. He’s slept for an hour and forty one minutes and there are nine hours and twenty-eight minutes left until the arriving of Harry’s plane. He laughs at himself for a while, still too tired to get up. The thought of seeing Harry doesn’t enlighten his mood, only brings it down. He tries to figure out the reason for it, but can’t, and he laughs some more, knowing he should be up and faithfully awaiting. He’s gone mad, he thinks.

He stays in bed for an hour and sixteen minutes, until he gets out, takes a shower, shaves, goes downstairs, eats, packs his bag, writes a letter to his Mum, and leaves. Hopefully he’ll be able to catch a train.

He makes it to London about two hours later, sitting down upon his arrival, in the empty living room, after months spent in Doncaster. He opened a window a moment ago, and now the cool September breeze is flooding his lungs. He feels cold, and still so very alone.

He almost doesn’t go to the airport, but drives down there anyway, arriving three minutes before Harry’s plane is supposed to land.

He doesn’t have flowers or a huge sign and he’s alone, not even Harry’s parents are here. He knows they’ll be coming to London tomorrow, from where they will drive to Holmes Chapel all together. But he’s glad he’s alone, he couldn’t bare happy people talking to him right now; he can barely manage the eyes of the strangers around him.

He’s pacing around the waiting room aimlessly, kneading his fingers behind his back, when the glass doors that separate the enclosed area of the airport from the hall open suddenly, breaking Louis’ train of thought. He freezes mid-step, turning his head towards the door and the people flooding out. All of a sudden there are cries of love and embracing and kissing all around him, and Louis almost panics. Where is he?

Louis spins around, calling Harry’s name without even realising it. There are tears prickling in the corners his eyes, panic coursing through him. The emotions that had been gone for so long take him over in such a flash, he feels he’s going to faint under the tidal wave.  
                “Harry!” He screams, more aware now of what he’s doing.  
                “Louis?” A shout sounds over the many voices in the room suddenly, and Louis feels everything fade away abruptly. He can’t see what’s going on, has no idea what he is doing, but none of it matters when he sees Harry.

In a few steps he crosses the distance between them and Louis can feel even less, then. He’s utterly frozen, feeling Harry’s touch around him, gripping him tightly. Yet, he cannot move himself, until Harry brings Louis’ palms together, squeezing them, and leans down to look at him.  
                “Lou? Babe, it’s me, Harry. What’s wrong?” Harry’s eyes are full of concern, but somehow they melt the ice around Louis and he comes crashing down to Earth, realising he’s seeing his fiancé for the first time in twelve months.  
                “Harry,” he murmurs, the tears that froze to place with the rest of him spilling onto his cheeks. Harry smiles, finally, and gently strokes his thumb over Louis’ cheek, wiping away a tear.

                “Baby,” Harry smiles, leaning so close their noses almost touch. Louis blinks the tears from his eyes, smiling for the first time since seeing Harry; maybe for the first time since Harry left, who can tell. At last, he breaks free, throwing his arms around Harry and nuzzling into his neck. Harry’s arms find their way around Louis’ waist, clutching him, pulling him into him.

They hold onto each other for what seems like forever, but barely enough when Harry lets go, but he must, he needs to look at Louis, properly, after all this time. His eyes are glassy, cheeks wet with tears and there are bags under his eyes much fuller and wrinkles by them much more prominent, than they had been, when Harry left.  
Yet he manages to be the most beautiful person Harry’s ever seen.  
                “Hey, beautiful,” he so tells Louis, capturing his trembling lips with his. They barely kiss, simply holding their faces as close as possible, breathing each other in. Harry’s arms wind around Louis’ waist once more, and they really kiss now, lips thawing into one.

Louis breaks away, holding Harry’s head close to him, resting their foreheads together. He cups Harry’s face, thumbing his cheeks. The corners of Louis mouth are crooked up, but with each passing moment they rise and rise, until he’s beaming and laughing uncontrollably. Harry laughs along with him, oblivious of the people staring at them.

Louis, for a moment, even thinks that somebody must be staring, but doesn’t care. He cannot believe this morning he had somehow been afraid of seeing Harry. He cannot believe how stupid he had been, to be scared of _Harry,_ his Harry, the one person he really, utterly, completely loves; the one person for whom he would give away everything. But he lets the heed go, because now he is happy, with Harry, in Harry’s arms, Harry in his arms, however one may put it, it has stopped mattering. They are together again.

 

                “Hey, private Styles, why don’t you introduce your fiancé to us?” A low voice breaks Harry and Louis out of their reverie. Harry turns his head, searching for the owner of the voice in the large, brightly illuminated room. There are men, tall and broad and dressed in uniforms like Harry, standing a few meters from them. Harry pulls a face at them, then turns to Louis.  
                “Wanna meet my bosses?”  
Louis nods, turning towards the men. They walk over, Harry’s arm thrown loosely around Louis’ shoulders, Louis’ against Harry’s back.

                “Captain Payne, my fiancé Louis, Lieutenant Horan, my fiancé Louis,” Harry introduces them, formally beckoning between the men and Louis. They shake hands, and Louis wonders if he really is tiny or if people in the army are just bigger, because of their job. He supposes, wistfully, that both facts are likely to be true.  
                “Heard a lot about you,” Lieutenant Horan chuckles, and Louis notes an Irish accent. He tells Louis about the times Harry wouldn’t stop talking about Louis until they were literally faced with enemies. Louis laughs until the moment he recognises the idea of “enemies” as people who would harm Harry. He stops laughing abruptly and frowns, half-faking a yawn instead, earning a look from Harry. It works, fortunately, and they leave soon.

Not that Louis had not liked the men, he simply really is tired, and so is Harry, he can see it. And maybe the last thing he wants to think about right now is the place, where Harry came from, but he cannot help but be reminded of it, when he talks to people who were there with Harry.

 

The car ride is a nightmare to the both of them, because they have to separate, only holding hands while Louis drives. Harry usually does it, but he’s jetlagged and even more likely to fall asleep than Louis, so it’s safer that way. As they reach the flat, Louis helps the half-asleep Harry inside with an arm around his waist and a gentle smile, not caring about his baggage still left in the trunk. They can worry about that some other time.

When they reach the bedroom, Harry immediately discards of his trousers and sits down on the bed, throwing his jacket next to him along with his t-shirt, dropping it onto the jacket. Louis walks out of the bathroom soon, in nothing but his briefs. He smiles at Harry, moving to take away Harry’s clothes, but as he reaches out, Harry interrupts him. He makes a small closed-mouthed sound, one beckoning Louis closer, and pulls him up to himself by his waist. Holding onto his hips, he rests his forehead against Louis’ bare stomach, nuzzling his skin and sighing as deeply, disbelieving he is finally home, alone with his boy.  
                “I love you,” he mumbles against Louis’ skin, and Louis wants to kiss him, run around in a field of flowers, skip. He cards his fingers into Harry’s hair, cupping his cheeks soon, instead, thinking that if Harry had not done it before his departure, Louis would ask him to marry him now.  
                “I love you, too, my soldier boy,” Louis says, giggly, pressing his fingers into Harry’s dimples when he looks up and smiles. He presses a kiss to Louis tummy, but shushes him, shaking his head the slightest bit.  
                “Don’t even mention it, Lou, not now, when we’re home.”

Louis nods, happy Harry had been the one to say it. He, face still squished against Louis’ stomach, starts pulling Louis even closer, until they fall onto the bed, Louis on top of Harry, giggling like teenagers in puppy-love. Harry finally lets go of Louis, pushing him off of himself, so he can crawl to the head of the bed and lay down. He pulls the blanket on himself and closes his eyes, squeezing the pillow under his head tightly. There’s a smile on his lips, which he can’t help, because he is _home,_ in his _bed._

The chances of the smile disappearing any time soon disappear finally, when a small, warm body shuffles his way between Harry’s body and outstretched arms.  
                “Me Hazza,” Louis breathes sleepily, kissing his way up Harry’s chest.  
                “My angel,” Harry replies, earning a smack and an eye-roll, but a smile so terribly in love, only a second later.  
They stare at each other, in silence, for a little while, until falling asleep almost in sync, Louis’ arm around Harry’s waist, the other one between their bodies, Harry’s arms under Louis’ neck and around his body, bracketing him, as if afraid of the world taking him away.

 

Harry wakes up first that morning, used to the early mornings in Afghanistan.  
But this is so very different, simply because he’s in his own bed, the sheets bright white and soft around him. And Louis, of course: Louis, right there, next to him, on his front, hugging the pillow, breathing serenely. His hair is a lot longer than it was when Harry left and it has fallen so that every breath moves a few locks around. Harry’s sat up without even realising it, but now he lies back down, watching Louis, fondly stroking his index finger over his bare arms. It still amazes him how Louis could possibly be real, never mind his.

Louis wakes with a nose-scrunch and a timid yawn, causing Harry to smile even wider and shuffle closer to him.  
                “Louis?” He sing-songs against Louis’ skin, rubbing the tip of his nose against his arm, like a cat. Louis yawns once more and opens his eyes sleepily, trying to say something, but failing to do so, instead cuddly up to Harry, peacefully sleeping on, despite Harry obviously wanting him to wake up.  
                “Come on, Louis, it’s almost morning,” Harry whines, pulling on Louis’ hair with one hand.

Louis shakes his head, informing Harry he is not waking up yet, so he gives in after a while. He almost gets out of bed, but the moment he throws off the blanket a cool spur of air flies across his thighs, and he, shivering, pulls the blanket on again. With a sigh, he makes himself comfortable – that is, he shifts around so his head is on Louis’ chest – and falls asleep after aimlessly humming to the rhythm of Louis’ heartbeat for a while.

The next time they wake up is a few hours later, a more decent time, in Louis’ opinion. He is the first one to open his eyes, an uncomfortable wet feeling on his chest. He opens his to Harry, his mouth wide open, lying on his front across the bed, his head rested on Louis’ chest and gangly feet hanging over the edge, just a bit of drool seeping out onto Louis’ chest. He should be disgusted, he knows, but cannot feel anything but endearment.

He pushes him off himself, still, quite brutally, but he wants him to wake up. He needs Harry to wake up, actually, and it’s not much his fault, either. It’s Harry’s fault, leaving him all alone for a year. So he pushes Harry off of himself, along with the duvet, and rolls on top of him.  
                “Harry, wake up,” he states, biting the man’s chin to emphasize his demand. Harry groans, and tries to push Louis off him, but Louis catches his arms and squeezes his wrists, digging his nails into Harry’s skin. That makes him groan again and open his eyes wearily.  
                “Louuiis,” he groans, grimacing, freeing his hands from Louis’ grasp with a quick flick. Louis sits back, straddling Harry’s thighs, and crosses his arms over his chest, pouting. Harry grins, raising his eyebrows and sitting up on his elbows.  
                “Why’d you wake me up then?”  
                “Was bored,” Louis replies, licking his lips slowly, “Thought I’d have some fun with my boy.” Harry gapes at him, for a second, the cheeky grin evident only in his eyes. He moves his hands to hold onto Louis’ hips, kneading the skin until he gathers some strength, then flips them around suddenly. Louis gasps, underneath Harry, all of a sudden. His hands are thrown back around his head and he can’t help but start to pant, looking up at Harry, startled. Harry, on the other hand, is looking down at him, a wicked grin beaming on his face. He bites his lower lip, sucking it into his mouth before leaning down and doing the same with Louis’.

                “What kind of fun did you mean?” He whispers, dragging his teeth along Louis’ jaw. Louis’ breathing is going ragged rapidly and he can feel his pants starting to strain.  
                “Th- This kind of fun,” he breathes, trying to muster some control, but it’s been twelve months and Harry’s always had the reins in his hands at this part of their relationship. Louis can feel Harry smirking against his neck, and see it as well when he sits up, reaching to the bedside table. He opens it and smiles.  
                “Had fun while I was gone?” he asks, referring to the toys pushed to the far end of the drawer.  
He grabs the bottle of lube and throws it next to Louis, leaning down again.  
                “Come on, talk to me,” he murmurs into his ear, sucking on the earlobe as his hands trail down Louis’ chest to play with his nipples. He knows how sensitive they are and how playing with them riles Louis up. Just as expected, Louis shudders, opening his mouth to speak.  
                “I was alone,” he finally manages.  
Harry backs away a little, to frown at him.  
                “Of course you were alone, babe, but you still had fun, I assume.”

Louis only nods, thinking better of talking anything more; all he’ll manage will be blabbers. Especially after Harry climbs down his body, to suck a dark red blotch onto his neck and another one onto his chest, and then bite down on his nipple. Louis lets out a whimper the moment Harry bites, slowly trailing his hand into Harry’s hair to pull.

He spends some time there, licking and biting until both nubs are raw and pink, and moves lower then, breathing over Louis’ stomach, earning another frail whimper from him. He hooks his fingers under the waistband of Louis’ pants, then, and looks up, raising his eyebrows at Louis. He’s looking down at him with a glazed expression, nodding his head so slightly Harry only catches it for a moment, but it’s all he needs. He dives in, pulling Louis’ boxers off in a swift movement, when he thinks the tension has dragged on for long enough.

His dick bounces onto his stomach and it’s thick and red, and Harry’s mouth only waters a little. He licks a stripe up it, before starting to suck slowly, moaning around the length. Louis’ gasping and sobbing, pulling on Harry’s hair desperately. He moans particularly loud when Harry swallows the precum dribbling out and whines loudly, when he pulls off after a moment. Harry chuckles at him, climbing back up to kiss him.  
                “Gonna open you up now, then fuck you so good,” he says, breathing the words into Louis’ skin, hastily pulling off his own boxers, rubbing their cocks together dry. Louis moans at Harry’s words and the painful friction, barely holding himself back. Twelve months is a long time to spend away from your lover, in many ways.

Harry takes the lube from beside Louis and, still kissing him, coats three of his fingers. He looks down at their dicks for a moment, but averts his gaze back up at Louis when he rubs the first finger over his rim. Louis breathes in so deep and fast, Harry has to shush him; kiss him tenderly, while he pushes in his index, sighing at the tight heat around it. He starts moving slowly, staring at Louis, unable to not admire him. He’s missed it so much, the way Louis’ eyelashes flutter and the little noises he makes, whenever Harry’s fingers are in him.

He pushes another one in, forcing Louis to close his eyes.  
                “Fuck, Lou, you’re always so hot when I do this.”  
Louis opens his eyes again, smiling up at Harry.  
                “Not my fault it feels- oh, fuck- so good,” he responds, rolling his hips down onto Harry’s fingers slowly, panting and sucking in quick breaths unevenly. Harry chuckles, kissing him, and pushes in the third finger, fucking them in and out of Louis at a quick pace. Louis almost screams, when Harry’s fingers brush against his prostate, and clutches Harry’s arm.  
                “Fuck, shit, yes, Harry!” he babbles, knowing he’s not making any sense, but not caring, until he sits up a little, looking at Harry with a less hazy expression.  “I’m ready, Harry,” he says. It takes a moment of reassurance, but when Harry pulls his fingers out he sits up completely. “And I wanna ride you.”  
Harry smiles, nodding urgently, and moves to kiss Louis and turn them over. He pulls Louis into his lap and rests against the headboard, while Louis, biting his lip, takes a hold of Harry’s cock, and after smearing lube over it and giving it a few tugs just for good measure, sinks down, sighing happily at the familiar feeling. Harry is big, and almost unbearably so, but it’s good, makes him feels so full and happy, like he hasn’t in a year.

Harry moans low in his throat, when Louis’ all the way down, arse cheeks rested snugly on Harry’s thighs. He clutches said arse cheeks, kneading the warm flesh, not moving yet. Louis rests his head on Harry’s shoulder and raises his hips, finally, causing both of them to groan out loud. Louis feels sensitive already, not used to Harry after all this time, but Harry strokes his hand up his neck and pulls him closer.  
                “Feel so good, baby, so good.” Harry whispers before kissing him, licking over his lips and prying into his mouth. Louis moans into the kiss as he raises his hips and moves down again, building a rhythm. Harry keeps one hand on his neck, keeping him close, and holds onto his hips with the other one.

Soon enough Louis is digging his fingernails into Harry’s shoulders while he rides Harry in quick, deep motions, head thrown back and mouth fallen slack. With every thrust and touch of Harry against his prostate, he moans louder, knowing he’s going to come soon. He bites his lip, moving closer to Harry again. Both of Harry’s hands are under his arse now, holding him up as he fucks into him hard and fast, on the edge of coming.

Louis chokes on a breath when Harry’s dick rubs hard against his prostate and comes, shouting Harry’s name and spurting between them, much harder than any of the times he’s done alone. Harry keeps holding him up, fucking him, Louis whining at the over-sensitivity, but still finding bitter pleasure in it. The sounds that he’s letting out only make Harry go faster, make him want more, and so he pushes Louis down onto the bed, and with an animalistic growl grabs Louis’ legs to fuck him from a different angle. Louis moans, clenching around Harry weakly, but it’s enough. Harry moans, guttural, the sound so loud the neighbours must hear, and repeats Louis’ name over and over, his come shooting into Louis and all over him, when he pulls out.

  
                “Fuck, Louis, you’ve no idea how much I missed this,” he mumbles, kissing Louis when they’ve both steadied their breathing a little, lying on their backs across the bed.  
                “Tell me about it,” Louis chuckles, turning onto his side to look at Harry, next to him, his chest rising and falling greatly. He presses a kiss to Harry’s chest and sits up.  
                “We should probably shower,” he says, giving Harry an expectant look. Harry sits up as well, holding his finger under Louis’ chin and pulling him closer slowly.  
                “We haven’t compensated for twelve months, dove, have we,” he whispers, raising a single brow at Louis, smirking. Louis licks his lips and pecks Harry on the mouth. He jumps up off the bed, then, waddling towards the bathroom, but stopping at the door.  
                “Haven’t you boy ever heard of sex in the shower?”

He runs off, his laughter echoing all around the flat. Harry shakes his head, smiling uncontrollably, and gets up, following Louis. He’s so goddamn happy, he cannot believe himself.

 

He shows Louis he has _definitely_ heard of sex in the shower, when he’s got him up against the wall, legs thrown over Harry’s shoulders as he fucks into him hard and fast, Louis unable to stop moaning and scratching his nails down the walls, breaking some against the hard tiles when he comes, completely untouched, for the second time that morning.

**Author's Note:**

> hope u liked it!! and kudos/comments/bookmarks give me life and feed my fam :)
> 
> [hmu](http://guccifloral.tumblr.com)


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